


Whatever It Takes

by SuspenDisbelief



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Explicit Language, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, umm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuspenDisbelief/pseuds/SuspenDisbelief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire had amazing friends, a stoner goddess roommate, and his art was finally starting to get some notice. Enjolras' question still echoed in his head, though. Why couldn't that be enough?</p>
<p>The only response was, of course, to light a joint on the fire escape and just try to make it through the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> A depressed cynic with substance abuse problems? Oh, Victor, you shouldn't have!
> 
> All mistakes are my own. But that is all.

Grantaire exhaled with a long sigh. Thick, sweet smoke curled in upon itself before dissipating in the breeze. He was sitting, slouched low, against the brick wall that made up the side of his apartment building, a favourite location of his to hide out and blaze in peace. He absolutely was not indulging in a joint and a few bottles of beer at three in the afternoon on a Thursday in order to deal with stress... because then his friends would start throwing around words like _“addict”_ and _“substance abuse”_. Which. No. He had just ordered pizza, for Eponine and her demon-possessed siblings, and he was just really excited to grab a few slices and listen to Rush in his bedroom for the rest of the day. Or... He could do that for only half an hour (because, no, he couldn’t skip that entirely, _it’s Rush_ ) and throw on some slightly less paint stained clothes, hop on his bike, and make it to the Musain just in time to miss Combeferre’s attendance and interrupt Enjolras’ opening remarks.

Did he really have any choice?

Three slices of meat-lover’s and eight songs later saw Grantaire pedaling up to the Musain and being embraced by his waiting friends.

“We missed you last week, R,” Jehan hummed as he picked at a crusty splotch of Vermillion 036 on the shoulder of his sweater, “Everything alright?”

“Sleeping one off, I imagine?” Bahorel laughed and slung an easy arm around Grantaire’s shoulder. The slighter man shrugged his friend’s arm off with a weak laugh.

“Yeah...” He agreed absently as he retreated to chain his bike to a nearby lamp post, “I was called to defend my honour on Wing Night. Victory, of course, was mine.” He said with a bow and a wink before taking long steps to catch up with his friends and they entered the cafe together. Bahorel and Jehan broke away to snag seats upfront while Grantaire went to order a drink.

He had just returned from the counter with his Irish Cream coffee and was pulling out his sketchbook, settling down at his usual table in the back, when a shadow blocked his light.

If it wasn’t the mighty Apollo himself.

(Thank every deity in the Greek pantheon that he hadn’t flipped his sketchbook open yet.)

“Are you well?” Enjolras asked, his voice brisk and businesslike.

“Umm...” Grantaire, admittedly still pretty baked, felt his brain stutter at the shock and confusion of the other man’s sudden approach (It usually took twelve minutes of heated debate to get him to come that close) (On the rare occasion that they reach twenty-eight minutes the pair wound up practically nose-to-nose), “Yes?”

“Good.” And with a stiff nod, Enjolras turned around to rejoin Combeferre and Courfeyrac at the other end of the room.

 ...

“Well, what would you do if you got him?” He asked Eponine one day while sketching her slumped figure at the kitchen table.

“What do you mean?” She replied, keeping her head still, but shifting her eyes towards his seat beside her.

“Tell me about a day in the life of Marius and Eponine: Celebrity Couple!”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“What? Can’t picture Pontmercy day drinking with us on the roof?” He tried to arrange his mouth into a smile and could feel the shape come out wrong. “Going out to tag shit after his bedtime?”

“Yeah?” Eponine raised her back straight and tall, not giving a damn about the sketch any longer, “How about you? E and R’s very first date. Go.”

“Sorry, dearest, but that’s where you and I differ.” He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and leaned back on his chair so he was balanced on only two legs, “I don’t waste time pretending it could work.”

Eponine let out a sigh as she took in Grantaire’s contemplative expression and deflated back into her previous slouched pose, “You mentioned day drinking?”

...

This was the night that Grantaire spends sober.

Not by any plan, he had a firm policy that scheduling your excess kind of defeated the purpose, but just by lack of inclination. Eponine was working a shift at the bar and the apartment was in a state of peaceful calm. Grantaire decided to spend the evening finishing a landscape Cosette had commissioned for her father’s birthday like the sweetheart she was. But as the sun slipped behind the horizon he found himself mixing the colours darker and darker without giving it too much thought. The summer scene’s bright blue sky was covered in rolling thunder clouds. Bright dots of wildflowers obscured by a sea of tall yellowing grass. Delicately blurred tones turned into thick dark lines of colour. The blonde pigtails of the girl running across the field, a young Cosette he had added as a surprise for them both, had been replaced in a flurry of brushstrokes and a splatter of dark paint. Grantaire backed against his windowsill as he stared at the figure he had created, a small pale girl with a tangle of black hair so achingly familiar (aching and aching and aching) he could feel the beginnings of tears prickling at the edges of his eyes.

He rubbed his forearm across his eyes to dispel the building moisture that was beginning to blur his vision as he approached the easel with a shaking arm. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he brushed a single line of light breaking through the clouds. It was positioned in the direction that the little girl was running and was the only bright spot left on the canvas.

When he was done, Grantaire sank against the wall and squeezed his palm against his mouth to muffle the sobs that had begun ripping from his lungs.

 

After her shift ended, around four in the morning, Eponine found him in the exact same position. Over his own shallow breathing, Grantaire could hear the murmured curse from her lips and the sound of her purse dropping to the floor as she rushed over to him. Thin warm arms encircled his body and he felt the painful press in his chest loosen slightly.

“Oh, R...” Eponine pressed a sloppy kiss to his forehead, “It’s beautiful. It’s so, so beautiful.”

He tried to even his breathing, letting his friend whisper compliments and nonsense into his ear like a lullaby.  As he felt his eyes begin to droop, exhaustion wracking his body as he calmed himself down,  Eponine helped him to his feet so he wouldn’t fall asleep in his curled position on the floor.

In the afternoon, when they had both awakened, he asked Eponine to drop the painting off at a gallery that had been cool enough to display his work in the past. And then he stopped at the liquor store on the way to buy a new canvas for Cosette and her father.

...

“Enjolras was asking about you last week.”

“What-?” Grantaire looked up quickly, embarrassingly quickly, from the book jacket he was skimming. Combeferre gave him knowing smile before turning back to the neatly organized shelves.

“When you missed that meeting? I think he was almost disappointed that he had no one to shout at.” ‘Ferre paused briefly as he squinted down at the list of books Enjolras had given them to check out of the library. Grantaire had skimmed the selections and laughed as he told the fuming leader that he had already read over half and they wouldn’t be of much use. “Where were you by the way? Working?”

“It’s been pretty steady lately,” Grantaire ran his hand through his curls as he leaned in to inspect the yellowing spine of an old labour law resource manual, “A couple of good commissions and I finally found a place that will sell my own stuff.”

“I think this is the last one.” Combeferre huffed as he added a hefty final text to the sizable stack on the table behind them, “That’s really great to hear, R. I’m glad for you.”

“Yeah man,” Grantaire pulled the corners of his lips into a tight smile while he concentrated on picking an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve, “Everything’s been good lately, you know?”

...

“Are you fucking stoned? Here?” Enjolras hissed at Grantaire before grabbing his wrist and dragging him into an empty hall outside the auditorium where their group had set up an information booth.

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably under the force of Enjolras’ gaze, but when he dared to glance up at him he was surprised to see, rather than the stern glare the usually proceeded a lecture on his “bad habits”, the other man’s eyes were wide with disappointment and bewilderment. It was so much worse.

“Cosette mentioned she was baking cookies to bring, “ Grantaire joked, attempting to fix his face into a mask of aloofness. That was familiar. That was what they do. He made the bad jokes and Enjolras gave the lectures. “It seemed like the thing to do.”

“R,” Enjolras’ tense expression never wavered as he brushed off Grantaire’s weak attempt at humour. Grantaire let out a nervous giggle and ducked his head bashfully before Enjolras’ shoulders slumped and the man seemed to deflate a fraction. Okay, maybe he was a bit too high to be out in public. “There’s university faculty present tonight,” Enjolras continued desperately, “What if one of your professors saw you? How is this possibly worth it?”

Grantaire snorted unattractively and gave Enjolras a cheeky grin. “I promise, Apollo, the Arts Department is a little more realistic about what the students get up to in their free time. There’s nothing to worry about.” He shrugged at Enjolras’ continued expression of disbelief, “Even though it offends your delicate sensibilities, some of us lowly mortals find it better than the alternative.”

“Alternative?” Enjolras scrunched his nose at the thought, “As in sober? But-“ He breathed deeply and flicked his eyes to the floor briefly before continuing, “Well, Combeferre had mentioned things have been going well lately, for you, that is. About, ah, your paintings?”

“What? Well, yeah.”

“Then why...” Enjolras gestured up and down Grantaire’s figure with his hands, dexterous pieces of marble that had Grantaire’s fogged mind distractedly trailing their path with his eyes, “Why do you show up to the campus at four in the afternoon on illegal drugs?”

“Sometimes,” Grantaire willed himself to lift his eyes from Enjolras’ hands to his face, a small bubble of frustration helping to clear his thoughts as adrenaline trickled through his blood stream, “Sometimes some of us need a little bit more than work in our lives.” He used the leverage of the wall to thrust himself up from his slouched position. The hallway had suddenly shrunk to a size far too small for Grantaire to breathe properly. Enjolras took a shocked step backwards at the sudden movement and the steel edge in his voice. Grantaire took advantage of the space to make his escape “We arn’t all made of stone. And you’re right as usual, oh mighty leader-, “ He spun so he was walking backwards, facing the shocked statue that was Enjolras, “ I really don’t want to be here.”

...

“Ummm... I may have done a thing.”

“I really don’t like that tone.” Grantaire looked up at Eponine from the couch as he paused the game of Mario Kart he was playing on their second hand N64. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stared thoughtfully at the wall behind him. “And don’t try to talk your way out of it, I can see you plotting. Just let me have it straight up.” She sighed and flopped unceremoniously onto the cushion beside him.

“Fine. ‘Ferre said you had mentioned that you had been selling some paintings lately. Told me he forgot the name of the gallery you said it was.”

 “No. No way.” Grantaire narrowed his eyes and sat a little straighter.

“Yeah, so I may let it slip at that point without thinking, but-“

“That sneaky bastard!”

“Exactly!”

“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook either.”

She rolled her eyes at him affectionately, “Anyway, next thing I know he’s off whispering to Blondie and the guy just takes off for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Sorry, dude.”

He kissed her on the forehead and restarted his game as he decided that it seemed like a good time to brush up on being a hermit.

...

He’d missed two weeks of meetings in the Musain. Originally the plan had been to lay in his room drinking, smoking, and watching downloaded movies until bed sores developed like some sort of Dionysian den of excess. But, “thank fuck” said Eponine, that got dull before the first weekend even ended. Plus he had lectures to attend, and some studio time that wouldn’t be remiss. He spent his free time playing guitar, finishing the proper version of Cosette’s painting, reading the philosophy textbook he nicked from ‘Ferre for being a traitorous bastard, and not sketching the figures of his friends who he was missing because of his self-imposed exile. Not sketching self-righteous nosy marble statues who needed to mind their own damn business.

The gallery e-mailed him to say the painting sold and that the cheque was in the mail. They signed off by asking him to send anything else he had and he squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered Enjolras asking him _why?_ Why wasn’t this enough?

He’s spent the second meeting he missed in the bathroom of his apartment, the showerhead pouring hot water into an empty tub as he and Eponine passed a pipe back and forth on the peeling linoleum floor.

“’Ferre texted me to ask if you’re alive.” She said waving her phone back and forth in the steamy air, “Says he’s not the one who’s been asking if you know what I mean?”

“I always know what you mean,” She pulled a face at him, making them both dissolve into a fit of giggling.  “But we need to change the subject, eh? Maybe talk about how you and Combeferre have joined forces to ruin my life?”

“God, you’re so melodramatic.”

“You’re blushing!”

“It’s just the steam, you ass!”

They were napping in front of the television a few hours later, having fallen asleep while watching shit reality shows, their heads turned stiffly towards each other across the back of the couch. Both were startled awake by the sound of a demanding knocking on their door.

“Who the fuck-“ Eponine wondered as she attempted to flatten her unruly hair with her hand while making her way across the living area.

“I’m not home.” Grantaire called as he curled back into the couch cushion.

“Shit.” Eponine gasped quietly, with enough disappointment that Grantaire raised his head.

“Shit.” He agreed.

“You know the whole ‘I’m not in’ thing works better if you don’t shout it out loud.” Enjolras said dryly as he side-stepped past Eponine into the apartment. “Would you mind giving us a minute?” He asked, turning back to her as he shrugged out of his red coat, bright against the dark hues of the apartment. Eponine raised her eyebrow to Grantaire who could only nod in response. The ability to make words seemed to be temporarily lost to him.

She shrugged, but returned the nod, “Play nice,” She cautioned in a teasing tone, but with a flash in her eyes, as she retreated into her bedroom.

Grantaire pressed himself up off the couch, desperate to pull himself together a bit while Enjolras was distracted by peering into every corner of their apartment from where he stood by the door.

“I hear you’ve been playing art critic.”

Enjolras snapped his head round to meet Grantaire’s eyes as though he had forgotten he was not alone in the room with his thoughts.

“Eponine mentioned-“

“Combeferre tricked, you mean,” Grantaire corrected.

A faint blush rose on Enjolras’ cheeks, but he maintained eye contact with a hint of defiance in his expression. “I thought it would help me understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“You!” Enjolras cried with a frustrated groan, “Where do you go when you disappear? Last time Jehan told me it was because you were hungover, Combeferre said you were working, and Joly insisted you told him that you had a head cold.”

“You- you were asking about me?” That was new information that he needed to sort out later when he wasn’t so distracted by a flushed, pacing Greek deity in his living room.

“It’s becoming a habit. Perfect attendance for months and then... Nothing. Gone for weeks at a time.”

“I do have an actual life. Outside of you. Your group.”

“I noticed. The painting was...” Enjolras paused his pacing and turned to stare at Grantaire, considering, before continuing in a quiet tone, “breath-taking. The gallery only had the one piece for the last few weeks. I asked and the attendant said they tend to go quickly. It was gone the last time I checked.”

_Breath-taking._ A good turn of phrase to use considering how difficult Grantaire was finding it to get air into his lungs at the moment. “I cashed the cheque yesterday. You went more than once?”

That seemed to be the confession that caused Enjolras’ eyes to drop uncertainly to the floor as the pink tinge on his cheeks deepened considerably. “Like I said, I’ve been trying to understand.”

“Why does it matter?” Grantaire asked, confusion turning into frustration. What did he want from him when he tried so hard to not raise any expectations?

“Where have you been these last two weeks?” Enjolras countered.

“For fuck’s sake, Apollo.”

“Why don’t you just lie to me then? Like you do with the others?” He was using his best debate voice, the same one that rang out against the injustices of the world and _how can the people let it possibly go on._ Well, he could never get Grantaire to cooperate with him then either.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You goddamn- Argh!” Grantaire threw up his hands in defeat and brought them down to scrub vigorously at his face, “Imagine for one horrific second that sunshine does not, in fact, shine out of your every orifice and consider the possibility that not everyone sees this wretched existence as a land of puppies and rainbows. Maybe, for instance, you wake up and realize that everything is shit. Everything has been shit, everything is currently shit, and as far as you can see it’s just going to be shit forever. And that knowledge is heavy, you know?” Grantaire slumped back down onto the couch, as though to emphasize the weight he was describing, and faced his head towards the ceiling to avoid the sight of Enjolras staring at him like he had two heads while he continued, words tearing themselves hoarsely from his mouth, “You wake up and you know that every single shitty person you see that day is going through the same empty existence that you are, filling it up with whatever they can to get through the day, and they’re managing it so much better than you can ever hope to do. So maybe that day you just say fuck it and stay in bed. Or maybe you say fuck it and start drinking at eleven in the morning. Or smoke a joint on the way to a social justice fair on campus.” Maybe you follow a shining group of idealists like a shadow desperate to be surrounded by light. “Whatever gets you through the day, right?” Grantaire cracked his neck, stiff from his previous nap and worsened from his staring contest with a stain on the ceiling, and glanced towards Enjolras who staring at him from the middle of the room, pale lips open to a speechless ‘O’.

“Grantaire...”

“Apollo, save the motivational speeches for the things you actually think you can change.”

“No, but...” Enjolras closed the gap between himself and the couch in three long strides and knelt low in front of Grantaire’s knees, “Do you really think the answer is to isolate yourself if... that’s how you’re feeling? Should you be alone?”

The intensity of Enjolras’ bright eyes on him forced him to close his own in response. It was too much at once. An outburst of the things he tried to keep locked in his brain where he’s the only one who had to deal with it. Anger faded to guilt. Someone like Enjolras didn’t need to waste their time on Grantaire’s bullshit. He could manage. He was managing. He just needed to sleep now and pray to a nonexistent god that this was all an embarrassing nightmare.

“I think it’s time to go, don’t you, E?” Eponine. Grantaire opened his eyes again to see his guardian angel leaning against her door way staring down the fearless leader. Enjolras rose and stepped towards her, as though to argue against her dismissal, but hesitated when she narrowed her eyes threateningly and he turned to look back down at Grantaire. His features softened in a way Grantaire had no energy to puzzle over. He just wanted to disappear into his bed.

“You’re right. It’s quite late. Perhaps it was rash to hurry over here at this hour.” Enjolras twisted slightly as though to move to the door, but paused and straightened himself out, “I hope to see the both of you at the meeting next week.” And with a long indecipherable gaze at Grantaire, he marched out of the apartment.

...

Grantaire didn’t go to the next meeting. He had planned to, really. Did he honestly even have a choice?

But, when he woke up late in the morning the day of the meeting, his phone blinked cheerfully at him that he had received texts from almost every one of his friends hoping to see him that afternoon.

He awfully hated to live up to people’s hopes.

None of the texts, he noticed, were from Enjolras.

The day was spent drinking beers and sketching up a few projects he was thinking of starting for his classes, determined to not risk his scholarship this year by procrastinating on his final portfolio while binge drinking through the last week of class to deal with the deadlines. An annual tradition of the last two years.

He looked up from a series of lines he was drawing with a ruler, as a familiar demanding knock shook the wood of his door.

No fucking way.

Grantaire shut his sketchbook and threw it on top of an unassuming pile of books before walking to the door. He opened it a crack to peer into the sharp hazel eyes looking at him expectantly from beneath a head of curly blond hair.  Trance-like and relying entirely on muscle memory, he opened the door wider to let Enjolras in and swivelled to peer uncertainly at the oven clock. 8:17pm, almost twenty minutes after the meeting was scheduled to officially adjourn. Enjolras, who Grantaire had watched stay in the Musain long into the night as he nursed a bottle of wine in his own separate corner, was in his living room less than twenty minutes after the meeting.

He lived fifteen minutes from the Musain.

What?

“What-“

“I think,” Enjolras cut him off as he raised himself to his full height, posture as though he was steeling himself, “We should have a movie night.”

No, but seriously, what?

“A movie night?”

“Yes,” Enjolras snapped defensively, “Do you own any?”

“Any movie?”Grantaire spluttered, a chuckle broke through his shocked stupor, “Yes, Apollo, I happen to own some movies.” He rolled his eyes, half at his friend’s occasional failure to assimilate to the rest of the human race, and half at his own foolishness. This wasn’t some gooey, romantic daydream he had fallen into. This was Enjolras taking Grantaire’s fucking mess into his own stupid, perfect hands. He sighed and fiddled with the pull on his hoodie as he stared into a spot on the wall just above Enjolras’ head. “Listen, man, it’s fine. You did the whole ‘check up on the crazy shut-in’ thing, and I’m really fucking touched and all, but I’m not a man-on-the-edge or whatever.” He shrugged and bent his head, “Nothing that exciting, just a lot of sketch- Why are you grinning?” He had peeked up beneath his too-long bangs to spy Enjolras staring at him with an amused grin. Which. Scary. If he had to be honest.

“You’re very self-depricating, you know.”

“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” Grantaire deadpanned.

“And you’re wrong. Though you usually are.” Enjolras rummaged through his messenger bag before falling effortlessly onto the threadbare coach and tossing a DVD case onto the stained coffee table. “I brought ‘V For Vendetta’.”

_What?_

 Grantaire stared at him, his mouth open in a wordless gape.

Enjolras released a gasping laugh at the look on Grantaire’s face, his expression lit up in surprise for one heart-stopping moment before clamping one of his hands over his mouth to contain his outburst. “I thought it might be... fun?” Enjolras added after taking a deep calming breath.

“Fine,” Grantaire was never one to pass up a chance to be annoyingly contrary, especially if it managed to get this strange laughing Enjolras to stay in his apartment for two hours, “Order us one of those shitty vegan pizzas you like. I accept the terms of this pity party.”

...

“So you just ended up arguing? The whole evening?” Eponine asked him later as they passed a joint back and forth while their legs dangled off the fire escape.

“Yup.”

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“It was a good night.” He replied thoughtfully.

“You two are so fucking weird.”

...

**From Apollo [received 8:02am:** Grantaire, are you awake?

**From Apollo [received 8:25pm]:** Obviously not. Well, when you wake up, I wanted to ask if you had any plans today?

**From Apollo [received 11:01am]:** For fuck’s sake, do you spend your entire day sleeping?

**Outgoing Message [sent 11:06am]:** jesus apllo. not all ofus rise wth the sun

**From Apollo [received 11:08am]:** Can I assume from your excessive leisure that you have no prior engagements today?

**Outgoing Message [sent 11:13am]:** tht was exhausting to read

**Outgoing Message [sent 11:14am]:** yea im free. if thts what your asking

**From Apollo [received 11:20am]:** I’ve seen you write 10,000 word essays on an artist’s bloody brushstrokes, but you can’t be bothered to spell out ‘that’ in a text message?

**From Apollo [received 11:21am]:** And you know that’s not the proper ‘you’re’.

**From Apollo [received 11:22am]:** It doesn’t matter. We’re all going to the museum. Meet us at the Musain in twenty minutes.

**From Apollo [received 11:23am]:** FINE. An hour.

**From Apollo [received 11:24am]** Oh, and I’m supposed to inquire about whether you’d be amicable to bring Eponine along.

**Outgoing Message [sent 11:26am]:** dbl shift today poor thing. tell ferre i say hello ;)

**Outgoing Message [sent 11:27am]** see ya soon

Grantaire arrived at the Musain an hour and thirteen minutes later, hair still dripping from beneath his knit toque and wearing his least wrinkled shirt underneath his hoodie, to meet a tired looking Combeferre and an increasingly frustrated Enjolras in a deep whispered conversation.

“’Taire!” Combeferre was the first to notice him and hailed him over with the hand that wasn’t clutching his travel mug. Enjolras startled at the exclamation and turned around to face the direction that Grantaire was walking from, his own travel mug in one hand and a large paper cup full of steaming liquid in the other.

“R.” Enjolras nodded in way of greeting as he thrust the to-go cup into Grantaire’s hands. He brought it up to his nose and breathed in the scent gratefully before throwing his head back to take a large gulp. As he drank he could hear as ‘Ferre released a low chuckle, but couldn’t find the source of amusement when he opened his eyes again, feeling marginally more awake.

“Black as my soul,” Grantaire felt his lips curl into a cheeky grin all on their own as he tried to make eye-contact with Enjolras, who seemed preoccupied with the straps on his messenger bag. “Have I told you that you’re a saint recently?”

“More recently than I’d like.” Enjolras snapped back, but without the usual heat that their back-and-forth tended to produce. The crisp morning air was turning his cheeks the most brilliant shade of pink and it wasn’t until Combeferre coughed awkwardly that Grantaire realised they had been staring each other down. Enjolras rolled his eyes, “C’mon, we should get going.”

Spending the day with Enjolras and Combeferre was... nice, for lack of a better word. He and Enjolras still bickered at each other throughout the day, but the ever-calm Combeferre kept them civil. The only time there was complete peace between the two was while they wandered through the wing of the museum that housed a visiting art exhibit. At first Grantaire remained silent, slowly making his way from painting to painting as the others trailed behind making casual observations. Finally, while Grantaire paused to lean in and admire the brushstrokes on a portrait, Enjolras grew restless in the silence they had fallen into.

“Well share what’s so fascinating at least.” He snapped, earning a few startled stares from their fellow museum patrons. Grantaire saw Combeferre smack his palm to his forehead with a sigh.

“What Enjolras means,” Combeferre said pleasantly through slightly gritted teeth, “Is that we’d like to hear your professional opinion, if you please?”  

Enjolras had the decency to look mildly chastised, but Grantaire, with a laugh and a wink, let himself start rambling on about composition and colour theory. The feeling that certain textures could invoke. His hands flew in wide gestures as he spoke and it wasn’t until he felt his fingers brush against the softness of Enjolras’ cardigan that he self-consciously stuttered to a stop. He looked apprehensively to his audience only to see them both watching him intently, Combeferre had his eyebrows scrunched slightly in concentration as he nodded along while Enjolras... Well, Enjolras was watching him with a hawk-like focus that made his palms begin to sweat. He thought back to the other night, the first night Enjolras had unexpectedly knocked on his door. He was...what? _Just trying to understand_ , right? He wondered where this piece of the puzzle fit. Grantaire cleared his throat and pointed to the next painting, beginning to make comparisons to the one they were in front of.

This... this was _great_. This was awesome. Still gesturing with abandon, he often glanced at his friends now as he babbled, reveling in the sensation that shot up his spine every time he caught Enjolras staring. This was better than annoying him with drunken eloquence, better than a heated debate, even better than a nose to nose screaming match. This was almost worth the fact that he had only been invited here out of pity.  And so, chasing that silver lining for all it’s worth, Grantaire talked and talked, espousing everything he had ever bothered to retain from his years of Art History courses in order to keep that burning attention on him. He didn’t fall back into silence until they were hopping down the steps towards the street and Combeferre had begun asking about places for dinner.

“Jesus Enj,” Grantaire let his shoulders fall back into their regular slouch and the sarcasm drip back into his voice, “Not that rabbit food shit again. Who’s up for some burgers, yeah?”

Ten minutes later saw Enjolras red and fuming as he ranted about factory farming while walking down the sidewalk as Grantaire laughed and teased while leading them towards the previously mentioned rabbit food shit, and Combeferre, with his head in his hands, followed a few paces behind him.

That night he painted with thick brushstrokes, the colours that dripped off the canvas going unnoticed as they splattered around his feet.

...

“I was at your gallery this afternoon.”

“It’s not my gallery, Apollo, they just-“ Grantaire paused as Enjolras’ words truly hit him, “Jesus, do you stop by there every day?”

“Of course not,” Enjolras snorted at the idea and Grantaire was torn between relief and disappointment, “That’s incredibly inefficient. I asked one the attendants to e-mail me when one of your paintings goes on display.”

Grantaire gaped at him. “You’re absolutely mad.”

“It’s brilliant, by the way.” Enjolras said, ignoring Grantaire’s spluttering outrage, “Also, you should take it easy tonight. Bahorel decided he was taking me to the gym with him in the morning.” His face blanched as though horrified by the very thought of it.

Grantaire let out a bark of a laugh, his mortification momentarily forgotten, “Are you shitting me? That may be the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. But-“ He raised an eyebrow at Enjolras before lifting the neck of  his beer defiantly to his lips, “Why am I the one who ought to be going ‘easy’, hmm?”

“You have to come with.”

“Like hell I do!”

“Don’t you two, I don’t know” Enjolras looked around the cafe searchingly, “Practise together? For boxing?”

“Train. We train together.” Grantaire shook his head, his bangs falling in front of his eyes, a sad smile playing on his lips. Did he really have any choice? “Fine, you win, this will be too good to miss.”

...

“C’mon Enj, it’s no fun if you’re just on the treadmill the whole time!”

“I’m fine here, you two look- I mean, you two seem fine- are doing fine. Without me.”

“Christ, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yes. Just out of breath. You go. I can, um, see from here.”

...

Eponine was a beautiful, pizza-bearing stoner goddess. Grantaire told her as much as she set a medium meat-lovers in front of him, both of them still laughing over the awkward encounter with the delivery boy.

“Even if you can’t form basic human sentences.” He added, grinning.

“Maybe if someone wasn’t giggling in the background. You’re worse that Azzy, you brat.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead before grabbing a piece and curling up beside him on the couch.

“Fuck, I’ve missed meat.”

Eponine snorted. “I bet”

“God, you’re sophisticated.” He took an obnoxious bite and let out a sigh of contentment, “Apollo’s nonstop pity parade leads to a disturbing amount of vegan restaurants. Do you know what a falafel is?” Eponine shook her head, smirking at his melodrama, “I do. It’s tragic.”

“Oh no,” She lifted the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed theatrically, “The love of my life is insisting I spend time with him and that we go to museums and movies and out to dinner. It’s almost as if my every wildest fantasy was coming true. The horror!” She cried, letting herself fall limp against the cushions.

“Fuck off.” Grantaire replied laughing, “You know it’s not like that. He’s got it into his head that I’ll off myself if left alone.”

“Do you really think it’s pity though?”

“What else would it be?”

“Well, I know you never like to think well of yourself if you can help it...” Eponine shrugged and leaned over to steal a gulp of his beer, “But even if he is just on some glorified suicide watch, you know, it is possible it’s because he actually cares about you and doesn’t want you to be so depressed. Because of friendship and all that noise.”

“You’re a poet, Ep.”

“I’m being serious here.”

“Fine. You’re a serious poet.”

“Oh, fuck you too.”

...

“I’ve been doing some baking, dear ‘Taire.” Jehan leaned into Grantaire’s side and flung an easy arm over his friend’s shoulder at the next meeting, as they stood at the counter ordering coffee. Grantaire stiffened in the other man’s grasp and narrowed his eyes.

“Is that so?”

“Some _special_ baking.”

“I see.”

“I need a favour.”

“Oh, fuck Prouvaire! Name your price.”

“I want you to design me a tattoo.”

“Ha!” Grantaire scoffed and bumped his shoulder into Jehan’s as he laughed, “Child’s play. I’ll come over tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“Bring snacks.”

After two hours of alternately sketching designs for Jehan and trading barbs with Enjolras, Grantaire shrugged on his coat as he rushed out the door to catch Marius for a ride.

“R?” Grantaire paused in his tracks as Enjolras called out to him questioningly.

“What’s up, Apollo?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the nickname. “Right, I was just wondering if you were doing anything tomorrow even-“

“Whoa, sorry. Just-“ Grantaire brushed his hand through his hair nervously.”It’s cool. I’ve got plans so you can have the day off from babysitting, right?”

“God,” Enjolras shook his head, a small smirk on his lips, “I can’t understand how someone can be so wrong about everything. All the time.”

“Wow, Apollo.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow, “Big words for someone who’s provided zero counter-arguments.”

Enjolras looked as though he was on the verge of saying something, Grantaire could see his forehead wrinkle in the way it did when he was searching for just the right words for the job. But then, so quickly if Grantaire had blinked he’d have missed it, Enjolras’ entire posture changed into something slouched and loose in a way that suggested a practised casualness as he nodded towards the door. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home at least.”

Grantaire texted Marius to go ahead without him.

...

They’re a quarter way through the pan of brownies and surrounded by discarded sketches when Jehan glanced up from his phone in slight alarm.

“Oh!” Jehan stared at Grantaire and then squinted back at his phone, “Now don’t panic or anything...”

“Well, this sounds promising.”

“But Enjolras kind of invited himself over.”

“Christ, does he know that I’m here?”

“Yeah, man. Read the texts.” Jehan scrolled down the conversation with ‘ **Enjy :)** ’, “He messaged to ask about edits to the pamphlet. Then he asked what I was up to. I said I was hanging with you...” Jehan eyed the brownie pan beside where they were sitting on the ground, “Maybe I should tell him not to come.”

Grantaire waved his hand lazily, “Our dearest Apollo has seen us tremendously more fucked up than this, I’m sure.” He laughed as he grabbed another brownie and took an exaggerated and defiant bite. Jehan laughed and looked him up and down appraisingly.

“You’re being rather calm.”

“Chalk it up to exposure therapy.”

By the time that Enjolras let himself into Jehan’s apartment, Grantaire had abandoned paper all together and was now using his finest point pen to doodle designs down his friend’s arm. Jehan was laughing at the feeling of the pen racing across his skin and hadn’t noticed the way Enjolras’ eyes traced over the scene with the faintest hint of concern, not like Grantaire had.

“Fancy meeting you here, Apollo.” Grantaire said with a grin, his stare turned back to the rose he was drawing on Jehan’s wrist.

“Erm. Hello. Sorry to-“ Enjolras paused with a searching look on his face before his posture deflated and his shoulders slumped, “interrupt.” Grantaire focused on shading the pedals in order to ignore the disappointment on the other man’s face.

“Oh, don’t feel so awkward Enjy!” Jehan chirped, gesturing for Enjolras to sit down with his free hand, “You know you’re always welcome to partake, if you’d like. We’d be delighted to have your company this afternoon either way!”

Enjolras let out a huff of laughter and smiled fondly at Jehan. The expression made Grantaire’s stomach twist in the most pleasant way. “I just came to drop these off in person.” He waved the stack of papers in his hand weakly before placing them on the coffee table. “I should get going. Um, I’ll text you later, R?”

Grantaire’s head snapped up at the sound of his name, “Yeah?” He answered, doubt colouring his voice, “I mean, if you want to, yeah.”

Enjolras nodded in response and was gone with a wave. Grantaire could feel Jehan’s smirk even as he stared disbelievingly at the door. “What is with him lately?” He cried, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Jehan shook his head with a chuckle, “Maybe you should just ask him?”

“Like just go after him and say ‘What the fuck?’”

“Eloquent. But yes.” Jehan raised an eyebrow at him considering, “That is, unless you’re too afraid to find out the answer.”

“Of course I am!” Grantaire replied, but getting up from the floor regardless, “Let it never be said I backed away from a challenge, though.”

...

“Hey, Apollo!” He shouted, running down the block to catch up to his long-legged friend.

“R?” Enjolras paused and turned to face Grantaire, surprise written on his face.”What is it?”

“Just wondering,” He huffed out a few breaths, winded from his sprint, “Why no lecture on my layabout lifestyle? Stoned at eleven am on a weekday? Corrupting your friends? Nothing?”

“Why are you trying to pick a fight?” Enjolras asked, his face looking vulnerable and hurt for one terrifying moment before turning into a mask of neutral disdain, “You’re both adults. Neither of you have lectures on Friday, I assume by design.”

“Bullshit, when have you ever been so reasonable when it came to pointing out my flaws?”

“You make me sounds so cruel.” Enjolras pulled at his hair and looked upwards as he took a deep breath. “Fine. I just thought- God, it’s so stupid.”

“What?” Grantaire scoffed, “You thought you’d grace me with some of your attention and all of a sudden poor fucked-up R would be all better?”

Enjolras’ cheekbones flushed lightly, but his eyes steeled themselves for a fight. “Oh course not! That wasn’t what-“ He sighed and clenched his fists tightly to his sides, “Look, I know that I always say the wrong thing to you. And I know that you don’t think particularly highly of me.” Grantaire released a violent cough from choking suddenly on his breath because _what?_ “But I just couldn’t just do nothing anymore. Do you understand?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Fuck,” Enjolras scrubbed his palm across his forehead before pulling his shoulders straight and defiant, “I care about you, okay? You’re my, well, my friend and I know there are things in your life that I don’t fully understand and realistically can’t do anything about, but...” Another pause and _I always say the wrong thing to you,_ “I’m here for you, if you ever need anything. Anything at all.” Grantaire nearly died of shock because Enjolras had stepped forward and placed his hand gently around Grataire’s arm and _what was in those brownies_ because this was the best trip ever. “I know I haven’t made that very clear in the past, been too unsure of myself to, but I’ve trying harder lately.”

What?

Grantaire could not even attempt to articulate on single thought in his head at that moment, nothing besides the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

No, seriously, what the fuck?

Enjolras shifted uncomfortably under Grantaire’s shocked silence. “I really have to be going. I’m meeting ‘Ferre.” Grantaire nodded slowly in response, “I’ll text you later though, like I said.”

“Yeah.” Grantaire nodded again and blushed at Enjolras’ searching look before he had turned around and hurried off towards the Musain. Grantaire walked back into Jehan’s apartment in a daze.

“Wow, what happened?”

“I was kind of an asshole and then my brain exploded.”

“Damnit, 'Taire! That wasn’t how that was supposed to go at all.”

...

Later that afternoon, back at his apartment, Grantaire was laying on his couch as he glared at his phone , a message typed on the screen that he didn’t dare send.

**Outgoing Message [draft]:** Would you like to grab dinner together tonight? **Send?**

No. Nope. No way.

“For fuck’s sake, just send the goddamn text!” Eponine cried from the kitchen. “I can hear you staring at it from here.”

“I think we’re getting a little carried away here, Ep.”

“Seriously, again?” She walked into view and leaned her hip against the doorway, a dish towel in hand, “Alright, from the top. Dear ol’ Apollo said he cares about you?” Grantaire nodded, “Said he’d do _anything at all?_ ” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and he blushed, but nodded once again. “Has the man ever lied to you? Nope!” She threw the towel at him and let out a bark of laughter as it settled over his eyes, “Face it, sweetie, we’ve entered the land of undeniable objective fact! Even you can’t argue against it!”  Eponine walked over and plucked the towel off his head and retreated back into the kitchen as she called back, “Anything at all at least includes dinner. _At least._ ”

He hit send and groaned into the couch cushion.

...

It was not a date.

If it was a date he would be fucking smashed right now.

But as it was, he had only had one beer as Eponine threw around his clothes looking for “one goddamn decent button-up, you slob!” She had found one in a soft gray that she had paired with his cleanest pair of blue jeans and he had defiantly threw his ratty green hoodie over the whole thing as she threw up her hands with a dramatic huff.

It was in no way a fucking date he told himself as Enjolras appeared at the door in an honest-to-god blazer.

Grantaire really wished he wasn’t wearing that fucking hoodie.

Silence enveloped them as they walked through Grantaire’s shady neighbourhood on the way to the restaurant. Grantaire felt it like an oppressive weight on his shoulders and every time he peeked over to see how well Enjolras was bearing it their eyes would meet and quickly flick away. Finally Grantaire could handle it no longer and pulled Enjolras’ arm to a stop in front of a locked up pawn shop, needing to address the one thing that had been bothering him the most all day.

“You actually think I can barely stand you?”

Enjolras flinched, but didn’t pull himself from Grantaire’s grasp, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my feelings.”

“That’s not really the point. Wait-“ Grantaire pulled his arm back from Enjolras’ as he felt his heart start pumping out a desperate beat and heard his blood rushing in his ears. “Feelings?”

“It’s not really important.” The light was faint, but, yes, that was a blush rising on Enjolras’ cheeks even as he refused to break eye contact with Grantaire.

No. Nope. No way. No _fucking_ way.

“I think it might be.” Grantaire hated himself, even as he took a step forward into Enjolras’ space. This was not fucking likely to end well, but he was morbidly looking forward to the massive amounts of self-pity he was going to engage in later with Eponine. “I think it might be really fucking important.”

Grantaire almost fled as confusion painted Enjolras’ features. Retreat with a laugh and pretend that he’s too drunk or high to remember how to be a normal person. But then Enjolras’ eyes widened with some sort of understanding and he broke into a dazzling grin. “You bastard.” He muttered before closing the remaining distance between them and Grantaire could only feel warm hands sliding across his face gently before they settled with a firm grip on his curls, felt himself be pulled by his head until his and Enjolras’ mouths knocked firmly together. Grantaire acted before his brain could even catch up with what was happening. Working off instinct alone, a response in his mind shouting _yes, yes, yes!_ far louder than every doubting _no fucking way_ , Grantaire wound his arms around Enjolras letting them trail from the base of his skull down to the sides of his hips. The noises, the fucking wonderful noises, that Enjolras made in response were what pulled him back to himself.

Because no fucking way.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

Enjolras flinched away from him at the exclamation, but kept his hands wrapped around Grantaire’s head, his fingers still combing through the curls. “I guess you didn’t realize?” Enjolras asked, searching his eyes, and, wow, eye contact was really intense that close. Closer than any heated argument.

“You thought I hated you?” Grantaire pointed out, panting lightly.

“True,” And Enjolras ducked down to punctuate the sentiment with a heart-stopping light press of their lips together. He pulled away and looked down at Grantaire almost sheepishly, like he didn’t meant to do it, just hadn’t been able to stop himself. Oh God, he was going to need Eponine to follow him around for all of time reminding him that this had actually happened.

“If I look at this very objectively,” Grantaire said after a moment of gathering his thoughts as best he could, “And take myself out of the equation entirely. And consider this a parallel world where you actually have an interest in... this,” He gestured between them helplessly while Enjolras smirked down at him fondly. Jesus, “Then maybe it kind of makes sense.”

“I...” Enjolras copied Grantaire’s gesture between them, “Date. Have dated.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows at him. “Not often, admittedly.”

“How many years have I known you?”

“Well, at first I was busy. Starting university, setting up Les Ami’s, and then...” He blushed fiercely and dropped his gaze from Grantaire’s face for the first time since that kiss.

“No fucking way!”

“You keep saying that!”

“Sorry, Jesus.” Grantaire dropped his hands from their new all-time favourite place on Enjolras’ hips, “Give a guy a minute, yeah?” Enjolras took a step back and raised his hands in mock surrender before crossing them in front of his chest and piercing Grantaire with a sharp gaze as he paced in front of him on the dark sidewalk making desperate grasps at his thoughts.

_Has the man ever lied to you?_

He could start there. Focus on that.

“I think,” Grantaire took a deep breath, “We should go to dinner.”

Enjolras nodded, still watching him with a serious expression. Grantaire could see the folds in the blazer where Enjolras’ fingers were digging into his own arms.

“But, first, you should kiss me aga-“ And Enjolras’ lips were working furiously against his own, swallowing the rest of his request with a muffled groan.

...

“E and R’s very first date. Go.”

Grantaire felt himself grinning like an idiot as he stumbled upon Eponine watching TV in their living room much later that night.

“I’m still pretty sure this won’t work,” He said, flopping beside her, unbuttoning his terribly wrinkled shirt and plucking the roach from her fingers, “But since you asked...”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! Stop bothering me fic ideas! I have to do original work now! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> (Could you tell I was stoned for most of it? Oh, R, you're such a bad influence on me.)


End file.
